The Life and Times of Tom Riddle, Dark Lord etc
by pot kettle black
Summary: Tom Riddle enters his sixth year confidently, only to find a strange transfer student wandering the halls. He only wants to know where she's really from, til he begins to think she holds the secret to immortality. Mistakes, Mystery, Tom's POV. HGxTR
1. Preamble

**Title: **The Life and Times of Tom Riddle, Dark Lord etc.  
**Pairing: **HGxTR  
**Notes: **I'm probably going to open my forum for Author's Notes and Thanks, so I guess check there in the future?**

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**The Life and Times of Tom Riddle, Dark Lord etc.**

_Preamble_

I suppose it may seem odd to some that I've decided to start writing my "memoirs" at age seventeen, though I assure the reader this is not without reason. It has, in recent days, been brought to my attention that dabbling in the Dark Arts can (much like Alzheimer's disease) be the cause of dementia. I fully intend to investigate the cause of this and will, of course, attempt to remedy it. However I am quite and uncomfortably aware of the fact that I have more than merely "dabbled" in those "Arts" which some call "Dark".

Therefore I think it behooves me to leave a record of my life and intentions, which (for rather obvious reasons) must be completed before (if) I become a raving madman and embarrass myself entirely. I feel it imperative that _someone _know the information that will be contained within this document. The reader may think this is a last (rather pathetic) attempt at attaining immortality on my part, but I assure you this is not the case.

It is merely that I, like most of my species, fear death and bad judgement.

Once this is completed--whether you decide to condemn me or not, at least you will have possession of the facts as I see them. I think that will be enough to satisfy my eternal spirit... that is, of course, if such a thing exists.

Private Notes:

- Yes, I am very afraid to die.

- I should probably kill Thea for pointing this out.

-- Which she did rather rudely, I might add.

**1**

For the sake of accuracy, this account not _with _my birth, but centuries before it with Salazar Slytherin.

The much maligned fourth Founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is my progenitor and my House's namesake. The annals have associated his name with pureblooded traditionalism, intense and unfounded hatred of muggleborns, and rather a viciously hidebound personality. Because he is, perhaps, the most famous person in my ancestry (and one of, perhaps, two worth note) I've conducted extensive research on the man and his history.

His diary, written in Parseltongue and hidden in the Chamber of Secrets exonerates him of the aforementioned charges. It becomes apparent, upon reading said diary, that Salazar Slytherin was a rather forceful man with a deep love of the wizarding world. He was something of a Healer, who hated the misuse and homogenization of magic. He believed these two things were directly tied to the influx of muggleborns within the wizarding community and wrote a rather scathing essay on the topic.

He became one of Hogwarts four founders and tried to push his ideas there, but (though Helga Hufflepuff sympathized to a degree) they were ignored. When Godric Gryffindor contracted a mysterious muggle disease (which, from description I believe to be the bubonic plague) Salazar Slytherin dabbled in the Dark Arts a bit in an attempt to find a cure for his friend.

Godric Gryffindor lived and Salazar Slytherin succumbed to that wretched dementia (which he, of course blamed Godric for) and the rest, as they say, is History.

Private Notes:

- According to Parker, this section lacks detail. I quite agree, but, really, does he expect me to write the man's biography?

- Thea has accused me of secretly wanting to be Lawrence Sterne. I do _not _want to be Lawrence Sterne. This account will be entirely void of satire.

- I have decided that the Sabin twins will no longer be allowed to read this. At least not Thea, who, though usually bright, has been offering nothing but worthless criticism. This is a bloody memoirs, _not_ a great literary work.

**2**

My mother was a rather pathetic woman. My father was a rather pathetic man.

My birth was a rather messy affair. There were no doctors and no midwives, simply my mother and a screechy, jumpy young woman named Eleanor something or other, who had no idea what she was doing. Consequently my mother died shortly after delivering me into the world and managing to name me after that father of mine who she was still, rather pathetically in love with.

I doubt there's much more to say about either of them.

Private Notes:

- Obviously I can't stop you reading this, Thea and I know Freud's in vogue, but for the last bloody time, I am _not_ repressing any sexual feelings toward my mother. Stop accusing me of some twisted Oedipal complex. Perhaps you're _projecting_.

**3**

I spent the entirety of my young adult life in an orphanage run by a prophiteering hag. Eleanor something or other's mother. Despite being a rather good looking and precocious child I was never adopted due to the fact that things tended to spontaneously combust or fly manically in my presence.

If that hag hadn't been so frightened of me, she would've set up a stall outdoors and charged two pence for a peek at me. She died years ago and I, unfortunately, didn't have a thing to do with it. The Blitzkreig did and I suppose I will have to be ever thankful to Adolf Hitler for that small favor.

Private Notes:

- What do you want me to add, Thea? A bit about the factory she had me working in? The smoke, the grease, the heat? Not bloody likely.

- Don't you side with her, Parker.

**4**

On my eleventh birthday I received a boot to the head from the hag and a letter sent by owl post from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would have thought this was some sort of cruel joke if it wasn't immediately followed by a visit from one of the school's liasons.

He was a rather owlish man himself, scuffy boots, worn jeans, crooked glasses. He bungled through the front door and the hag didn't even bother putting on a nice face for him. She could tell with a glance that he was poor.

"Looking to adopt?" she asked, looking down her nose at him.

Luckily the man was a squib and used to people looking down on him. Otherwise this would have raised some ire.

He shook his head. "I'm looking for Tom Marvolo Riddle, actually."

I was scrubbing the floor just then and looked up, mildly surprised.

The hag sniffed at that, but looked more than a bit eager all the same. "You can have him," she said, shoving me in his direction. "Free. In fact I'll pay you 2p to take him off my hands."

"Oh, no," the man's eyes went wide as his lenses. "I'm not here to adopt-- I'm here to see that he gets all the proper supplies for next term."

The hag swung her nose in my direction then. "What's he on about?" she snapped. "You going to _school_ now?"

I showed her the letter. "I thought it was a prank."

"Bloody hell," the hag flipped the parchment over and examined the supply list. "'re you taking him, then?" she asked, eyeing the poor little man. "For good?"

"Just Fall through Summer, Ma'am," he said, casting me a rather sympathetic glance.

"Damn," the hag nearly kicked me, but staid her boot, mindful of the man's presence. "S'there tuition?" she asked. "Because I'm not paying anything for this nonsense."

"It'll be loaned to him," the man said. "Along with money for supplies-- it's a sort of scholarship. The young man is exceptionally gifted."

I had no idea what he was talking about. I dipped the scrubber in the bucket and went back to the floor as there was no use getting on the hag's bad side daily.

"Exceptionally gifted at mucking things up," she muttered darkly. _Then _she kicked me. Or rather nudged me with her boot. "Get yourself going then," she nodded at the man. "Hopefully you won't be darkening my doorstep again next summer."

I stood up, putting the scrubber down and walked over to the madman arguing with her.

"Term doesn't start til September," he protested. "It's January!"

"D' I look like I care?" the hag screeched. The man flinched. "You said you wanted him so bloody take him. If he's so _exceptionally gifted_ you should have no trouble finding a place for him til September, eh? Now get yourself out of here before I phone the police!"

The man, distressed, and surprised, turned to me for help. I was eleven and had been dealing with the woman my whole life. I shrugged at him.

"She's going to start throwing things soon," I informed him, quietly.

Sure enough the scrubber I'd left came flying at us, dripping soapy water and the man, eyes egg whites, grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the building.

"Don't come back til next June!" she screeched.

The man looked a touch lost so I held out my hand to him. "I'm Tom Riddle," I said. "And you are?"

He straightened his coat then, and fixed his glasses. "Benjamin Addlemere," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

Private Notes:

- From now on I'm putting a Cryptus Charm on this text. I will _not_ tolerate any more of your comments, Thea.

**5**

Following the previously related episode, Addlemere took me to Diagon Alley where we purchased supplies and he told me about the wizarding world. Everything I was allowed to buy was second hand and rather tatty.

While in Flourish & Blott's of Diagon Alley, I met the Sabin family when Thea stumbled into me trying to reach a complicated Charms text. I kindly got it for her, when her brother dashed up shouting about how she shouldn't be bothering strangers. I asked them both if they were going to Hogwarts as well.

I will forever regret this moment.

Private Notes:

- Of course I know the both of you are brilliant and Decrypting Cryptus Charms and you're right. I will not _forever_ regret that moment. At some point I will either become senile or die.

**6**

I lived with Addlemere in his rather sorry two room apartment from January through September. The man didn't have much money and got no sympathy from the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which meant that he was not provided with _additional_ funds for my care.

He served me thin soups and apologies, gave me the warm blanket for sleeping, and apologised constantly for not being able to do magic at all while telling me what a wonderful place Hogwarts would be once I got there.

Private Notes:

- I _know_ I've never mentioned "this Addlemere fellow" before. Quite frankly it's none of your business.

- Bloody hell, _no_ it's _not_ because we had sex! I was _eleven_, what is _wrong _with the both of you.

- Thea, I don't _care_ if it was Parker's suggestion; I am _not_ traumatized. Christ.

**7**

I was sorted into Slytherin (of course).

Two days into my first year the word was out that I was a "mudblood". Parker and Thea remained my only friends.

Two months into my first year, they roped me into helping them with a rather advanced Disillusionment Charm in the library. We ended up causing the library to effectively disappear for two days before the staff finally figured out what had happened.

This stunt earned us all detention for a month and the eternal hatred of the librarian.

It was during this detention that I met my familiar, Nagini. Parker and I were gathering herbs for Potions under Dumbledore's rather tyrannical eye when she slid up to me. Sort of looked at me oddly, flicked the air with her tongue and asked me if I carried Slytherin's blood. Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about just then so I ignored her. It didn't seem like either Dumbledore or Parker heard what the snake said, so I assumed they couldn't understand it and further assumed that I _shouldn't_ understand it.

She managed to creep into my bag and emerged one night in my dormitory, hissing on about Slytherin's heir, which, I came to understand, was me.

Private Notes:

- I'm well aware of the fact that if I hadn't "fixed" your version of the spell the library would've only been cloaked for two minutes, Thea, but that's hardly the _point._

- Parker, if Nagini did in fact eat a certain cat, then I'm sure it's because that cat was a bloody nuisance and fully deserved what it got.

- And really, I didn't know the both of you were such sticklers for grammar. "Who, I came to understand, was me."

- "Who ended up being I."

- Bugger it, is it really _that_ important?

- I don't _care_ if posterity thinks I'm an uneducated buffoon, because of a _tiny _grammatical error.

- All right! I'll fix it later.

- _No_, I would not like any suggestions.

**8**

In my second year I began researching Salazar Slytherin and attempting to figure out the Animagus spell. While doing this, I maintained perfect grades, and managed to keep Parker from blowing up the Astronomy tower with one of his more combustible Potions experiments. I also kept the entire Hogwarts staff from finding out how much I absolutely despised them.

I was quite sociable and did not, as many expected, try out for the Quidditch team. Thea did and failed to make the cut due to the fact that she can't actually fly a broomstick to save her life. The attempt, however, was rather funny.

Private Notes:

- No I am not going to talk about that time Thea set my hair on fire because I was dumb enough to be her partner in Potions and yes, you _were _about to blow up the Astronomy tower.

- Thea, I know I made second year sound boring, but think back for a minute. Good now. Second year _was_ boring.

- No I was not mystified by the "magic"-ness of Hogwarts. It's a bloody have and have not world _why_ should I have felt gleeful and special for mugging with the "haves" when most of them treated me like the dirt on their boots and _none_ of them understand pain or poverty or anything.

- Oh, don't Dumbledore Dumbledore me. Dumbledore likes to fancy himself a bloody bleeding heart, but have they raised Benjamin Addlemere's salary?

- Oh, stuff it. The _both_ of you.

**9**

The summer before third year was a bit odd. There was this new boy at the orphanage, some ten year old nuisance who delighted in dancing around calling me a "freak" at all hours of the bloody day. I'd wake up at two in the morning to use the loo and there the little rotter would be, pointing and hissing _freaaaaak_. He was massively annoying. Quite possibly the most annoying thing I've ever had to deal with, so one day when we were on our way to work, I hit the little blighter so hard he went deaf in his left ear.

That solved the problem quite nicely, but then he went babbling on about my assault and trying to find a policeman to tell to, so I knocked him over the head and he fell, neatly biting off most of his tongue. I hauled him back to the orphanage and told them someone'd attacked us in the street.

He couldn't exactly say otherwise.

Third year was the year I learned to become an Animagus-- a rather difficult procedure though not as difficult as most would have you think. I had Parker help me with the Potions component, of course, and found out my Animagus form is a snake. Almost boring in its predictability.

Private Notes:

- Yes, Parker he really was that annoying.

- And yes, Thea, we really did leave you out entirely.

**10**

During fourth year, I helped Parker and Thea become Animagi.

Parker's form was an oddly colored hawk with feathers that were gray black and white. Thea was a black butterfly, which we all had a good laugh over.

Fourth was also the year I discovered the Chamber of Secrets and formed the Death Eaters. None of the silly Slytherins knew who they were calling "Lord", of course, and I helped spread the rumor that it was Parker, given that he's a pureblood.

We wore simple masks back then. Until the night a moth flew into Junius Malfoy's ear, which was an incident so horrid I can't help but remember it as though it'd happened just last night.

My followers were standing in a circle as usual, with myself at the center when all of a sudden Junius started twitching and jumping like a bloody madman. He disrupted the entire meeting and finally managed to yell out, "Something flew in my ear! It's a moth, it's a moth!" which caused something of a ruckus.

The group crowded around him in an attempt to solve the problem. "Maybe if we flash a light in front of his ear it'll just fly out," someone suggested. Lumos charms were then cast and wands were flicked and still Junius jumped. No moth was forthcoming.

"Kill it, kill it!" Junius was screaming. "God I can hear it _flapping_."

At which point Lawrence Crabbe pointed his wand at Junius's ear and began to say "_Avada--"_

Which, of course was the moment Thea stepped in, smacked the idiot's wand down and says "Don't do that you might kill him you dolt!"

Francois LeStrange had the brilliant idea that taking Junius to the hospital wing was the best course of action. Parker thankfully defeated this proposal with a, "Oh so are _you_ going to be the one to tell Madame Biswick what exactly the both of you were doing out of doors after hours, wearing strange masks?"

"Maybe if we _Stupefy _the moth," someone else suggested.

"That'll just _Stupefy_ the boy," someone else countered.

Meanwhile the little bugger was hopping around, screaming his head off and making a general nuisance.

"Oh, why not kill him," I suggested a bit drolly. Thea had the wherewithal to smack me for that one, though luckily in the confusion no one had any idea who exactly had been leading the meeting any more.

One rather bright little bloke-- I think he was a Goyle-- decided to hold up his wand and shout "_Accio Moth_!" which, obviously brought every moth in the vicinity swirling round his head.

In all it was not the _brightest _moment in Death Eater history. Hogwarts lacked common chemicals like hydrogen peroxide and acetic acid, so we couldn't really kill the bloody thing. We couldn't cast any spells at it, because it was lodged in Malfoy's ear and because Malfoy was absolutely not staying still enough for the delicate aiming such a thing would require.

Parker finally spoke up with an actual suggestion. "Rotting fruit's got acetic acid in it. If we can find some and transfigure some rocks into potions supplies I might be able to extract it and then we can pour it in his ear."

This seemed like the best idea so far, so everyone split in search of rotting fruit. Which they then dumped into Parker's shoddy transfigured cauldron. A fire was lit up underneath and he did _something_ although i can't say what, but the end result was a clear liquid.

Thea cast a charm to cool it, then they funneled it into Malfoy's ear, which caused a whole new uproar from him.

"Merlin!" he screamed. "I feel it dying it... Oh, Merlin, it's _twitching_."

Which inspired a great deal of disgust from everyone in the circle. Thea, in her infinite kindness, managed to say, "Oh, _buck _up, would you?"

The meeting was effectively over, once Malfoy was sure the moth was dead. "How do I get it out?" he asked lamely.

"Suppose you should try flushing it out," Parker suggested as he transfigured his supplies back into rocks. "With water or something."

After that, I decided that Death Eaters should wear hooded cloaks to protect both their ears and their identities. However getting said cloaks wasn't exactly easy. There were arguments over color and problems with size-- most of which I let Thea deal with, because it seemed like a rather feminine matter.

Until the cloaks were finished, we all wore ear plugs out. This made it hard to hear and so I learned that, rather than shouting, I could project my thoughts into the minds of others. It was a rather useful thing to know.

Private Notes:

- I refuse to recant that bit about it "seeming like a feminine matter".

- Parker, you're right. We never did hear from Malfoy about whether or not he got that creature removed. For all we know it could still be in his ear. God that's disgusting.

**11**

In fifth year I became a prefect, opened the Chamber of Secrets, and received an Order of Merlin First Class for framing Hagrid. Other than that, I don't think very much happened.

Private Notes:

- Yes, I do recall the chocolate creme pie incident, but that was Crabbe's doing and hardly notable.

- No, it does not deserve mention just because it was "bloody hilarious".

**12**

I seem to have run into a problem. It _is_ currently the summer before sixth year and I can't very well chronicle moments that I have not yet lived. I suppose I should keep a journal from now.


	2. Chapter One

**The Life and Times of Tom Riddle, Dark Lord Etc.**

July 6th, 1942

9:02am

My visit with Thea and Parker ends tomorrow at which point I will Apparate to Hogsmeade and, from there, make my trip back to Hogwarts by coach. It only took me two minutes to pack my trunk, but due to a miscalculation by the aforesaid pair of twins, the entire Sabin family's gone off on some mid-morning jaunt around the grounds leaving me in the manse with their paranoid father. Mr. Sabin has a tendency, I've been informed, to wander through the house and hex "strangers" on sight. While I have no doubt in my ability to defend myself against Mr. Sabin, I quite think Mrs. Sabin would be a bit peeved if I did so, which would, effectively, put an end to any and all succor I receive from the family.

Therefore, I am stuck in the room I've been sharing with Parker, which while exquisite and large, is rather boring. I seem to have a tiresome excess of free time that I would have previously used to work on my memoirs, however those were completed much sooner than expected and were also much shorter than expected. I assume the latter to be the reason Thea handed me a rather sizeable list of things she thought I should explain or elaborate on. I am rather dutifully ignoring said list, since it is filled with rubbish like "point three: When did your hatred of muggleborns (_ref. pts 22 and 54_) begin?" and "point sixteen: Did you think of 'the Hag' as a sort of mother figure (_ref. pt 18_)?"

Come to think of it, point eighteen was probably the worst. "What sort of sexual feelings did you have toward 'the Hag'?" (the answer to that question was of course "None" and "What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Thea?"). It was just one of _many_ points regarding my sexual feelings in general (including "point one: What did you feel after that one time _we_ had sex?", which I answered directly after she handed me the list-- bored, flaccid, prematurely hungover).

A few of the points were exceptionally ludicrous like "point 54: Why did you open the Chamber of Secrets (_ref. pts three and 55_)?" and "point 55: Why did you order the basilisk to kill muggleborns (_ref. pts three and 54_)?" The answers to both of these questions are so simple that I can't imagine why they'd need to be in my memoirs. I opened the Chamber because I could and because I thought it would be interesting. Nothing much to tell there. The Basilisk _asked_ me if it was to go and slaughter those of impure blood and I simply said "Why not?". After all, why not? Neither Thea nor Parker can say that the results _weren't_ interesting and I can hardly see how the incident colours my visage in posterity.

Though I do have to admit that the tearful speech by the muggle girl Myrtle-something-or-other's parents _was_ rather entertaining. Her mother could barely get a word out without bawling and, as I recall, Parker could hardly stop himself from guffawing when the girl's father offered me his tear-filled thanks from the bottom of his heart for catching the culprit. I had a bit of trouble stifling a chuckle or two as well, but I doubt the ages care much about that.

In any case, it appears the Sabins have returned. Thank God for that.

10:15am

Apparently a man can't set a book down and go to the bathroom for _two_ minutes without _some_ people picking it up and reading through it. I've spent the past bloody half hour telling Parker that this is a _journal_ not a "diary" and arguing with Thea over whether my dismissal of her list is an ideal example of reaction formation or a rather levelheaded judgment made based on the fact that her list is completely asinine.

For future readers of this journal, I have advice: If you feel you must beat someone over the head with a stick, find a Freudian. After all you couldn't possibly do _more_ damage.

By the way, there is a _distinct_ difference between a "journal" and a "diary" that is more connotative than Oxford-accurate. Journals are kept by intellectuals, generals, artists, and politicians. Diaries are kept by angst ridden thirteen year old girls.

For the record: I am not an angst ridden thirteen year old girl.

6:36pm

I am fairly sure that I am currently riding in the most uncomfortable coach ever to torture a man's... posterior. This is, of course, entirely Mrs. Sabin's fault since I was supposed to have Apparated to Hogsmeade at 2:30pm where a nice coachman was waiting to take me to Hogsmeade in his rather comfortable, cushioned surrey. Of course Mrs. Sabin saw fit to delay me a good _three and a half _hours, making sure I had warm clothing and enough baked goods to feed the entire bloody RAF for three winters running. Consequently I've had to settle for a less credible coachman as my original driver has already been hired by people who arrived here at 4:00pm, just as he'd gotten tired of waiting for me.

The woman's a right crazy bleeding heart and, while I do appreciate her charity, it's the most irksome thing in the world when it gets in my way. Thankfully that doesn't happen often; if it did, I might have had to kill the woman at some point.

I might have to sometime in the future anyway. Professor Slughorn was set to arrive today at five and I'd _planned_ to make it to the school before he did and pretend to be sleeping in my room to avoid having to converse with him. He's much too _jolly_ to be tolerated for more than ten minutes at a time, yet he talks and he _talks_ like he's bloody Santa Claus and someone's fed him a thousand sugar cookies. Not to mention the odor that wafts from his arm pits every time he excitedly raises an arm in conversation. It's something like stale sweat, coffee, and chocolate gone terribly wrong.

He tends to raise his arms quite a bit, I might add, and when he's not fully raising them he's flapping them like an amputated chicken with his hands grasping his collar. "Ho ho ho, Tom, my young man, and how are you this fine morning?" Flap flap flap, and so on. There's also the way he blows on that ridiculous mustache of his. Also the way food particles sometimes get stuck to it, and you dearly wish he'd brush them off, but he never notices them and so they _stay_ there clinging to his little hairs.

I do not believe there are words for how much the man truly annoys me, however I can assure the reader that if I was a man with more free time on my hands, _I would make them up_.

However, attempting to endear myself to persons who may be useful in the future has always been my policy. Slughorn has a vast amount of experience living in the wizarding world. He's a decent potions master, though, somehow still not better than Parker. He's a teacher, head of the Slytherin house, a friend of Albus Dumbledore (the one man here who seems to dislike me). Besides, he plays terrible favorites and since I have no _hereditary_ nepotism my only course is to earn it through what I can only describe as hard work and extreme tolerance.

In all, it behooves me to stay in Slughorn's graces. It does _not_ make me happy and I am _not_ looking forward to conversing with him over a late dinner--

And he's come out to greet the coach. Wonderful. Bloody wonderful.

11:45pm

A list of people the reader can expect to find dead by the year 1950:

- Professor Horace Slughorn

- The Entire Sabin Family

What sort of name _is _Horace for that matter? Some sort of 18th century neoclassical throwback. Absolutely ridiculous. One would almost _have_ to assume his mother was a fan of Walpole. Even that aside it's a terrible name. Full of bluff and bluster, pretension, faux classicism. Dear God I do despise that man.

July 7th, 1942

2:30am

Discovered an interesting way to get to the kitchens. Something about tapping a picture of a pear. Well, that's not _exactly_ what you do to the pear. What is actually done is a little...

Bloody hell, if Thea reads this I'll never have the end of it whether I say what I did to the pear or not.

My kingdom for an undecryptical Cryptus Charm.

11:04pm

I have done so much research and exploring I can barely see straight any more and am quite certain that if I tried to stand up again my legs would go on strike for better working conditions.

Also, I don't think the library is a safe place for me any more. Slughorn has discovered that I do go there frequently and I'm sure will now be there_ every day _because this castle is undeniably boring when no one is in it-- especially for people like Slughorn, who need to speak. Constantly.

Dumbledore has been wandering around quite a bit as well. He really does pop up at the most inconvenient times in the most inconvenient areas. It may be possible that he is also trying to avoid Slughorn, although it is rather more likely that he is watching me to some degree.

Headmaster Dippet has still not shown his face on campus. One can only assume his Carribean vacation has gone on a bit long and is keeping him from the usual pre-term staff meetings.

I really can't wait for classes to start. In fact I think I won't make any more entries into this journal until they do. I'd hate to be one of those people who feel the need to chronicle their every bloody bowel movement.


	3. Chapter Two

**The Life and Times of Tom Riddle, Dark Lord Etc.**

July 26th, 1942

3:00am

I am well aware of the fact that I said I was not going to make any more entries into this journal until the start of term. I did intend to leave this bit out for the better part of the day, but on reflection I think that would be a grave mistake.

I was walking through the hall, on my way to lunch when- and this is going to sound completely absurd- a girl _appeared_ in the middle of the hallway. And when I say "appeared" I do mean just that. One second she wasn't there and the next she was. Not such an abnormal occurence in the wizarding world in general, however this is Hogwarts.

By that I mean Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

By that I mean one of few places where Apparation is impossible.

Which, of course, makes a girl suddenly appearing in the middle of the hall a bit irregular. Highly irregular. As a matter of fact, I would be tempted to use the word "impossible", except that I find myself unable, due to the fact that I witnessed it and am quite sure it did happen, which, obviously and effectively nudges it over into the realm of "possibility".

Still. People quite simply do not appear out of nowhere in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am quite certain she wasn't using an Invisibility Cloak or Spell, because I did not detect her presence prior to her "appearance". I am also quite certain she did _not_ find a way to Apparate here as Parker, Thea, and I have been trying to find a way to do just that--or at least something very similar--for a few years now and have not managed to find a way. I find it highly unlikely that a girl of about my age, who I have never seen in this school before would be able to do something that I have been considering for years and still cannot do.

This either means that I've gone completely mad (and I don't think I have just yet) or something very interesting is going on.

I would simply have asked her where she'd come from and how she'd gotten in, if she hadn't fainted directly after she appeared. Much to my vexation I might add, as I had to levitate her to the Infirmary and then go find a staff member to report her presence to, because Mr. Aesop Reed, our near-criminally-negligent nurse was nowhere to be found (I suspect he was off in Hogsmeade flirting with that woman that runs the sweet shop).

And, _of course_ the first staff member I ran into was the ever-wandering Dumbledore, who I am now certain has been following me. I explained the whole of it to him on our way back to the infirmary. I'm fairly sure he thought I was slightly mad in spite of the way he nodded every so often to indicate that he did not think I was mad at all.

By the time we got there, the girl was already starting to sit up. She froze when she saw the both of us enter the room.

Then she said, "Professor Dumbledore, I need to speak to you."

Which begs the question: How did she know him by name and face?

Albus Dumbledore is a talented wizard, there is no doubting that. However it's not as though he's exactly a household name. There's no reason someone of her age should know who the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts is unless they actully attend Hogwarts or have parents who pride themselves on being very in the know.

This girl definitely does not qualify for the former reason and most likely fails at the latter as well. More than that, she seemed to know him personally, though by his face I would assume he didn't recognize her at all.

"Professor," she said, shooting the very briefest of glances in my direction. "It's urgent."

And just like that I was shooed out of the room with a "Thank you very much, Tom, you may leave now". Of course I couldn't loiter outside of the infirmary to hear what was so urgent-- Dumbledore would have known I was there, I'm sure. Aggravating, as always.

So there it is, a rather curious set of events. I'm sure the mystery behind them will be easily defeated tomorrow by a few simple questions, but at least it will give me something to think about until then.

Also, I am really quite happy that another person is currently occupying the castle. She'll provide a wonderful target for Professor Slughorn's tiresome loquacity. As a matter of fact, since she'll be an entirely new acquaintance of his, I can almost be assured that once he runs into her I won't have to see him at all for the rest of the day.

9:41am

The question of "who" that girl is has just become a matter of as much interest as _how_ she got here and _what_ she so urgently needed to speak to Dumbledore about.

She is claiming to be Dumbledore's niece, Hermione Dumbledore, here at Hogwarts on some private family business that will, for some secret, private, family reason, be keeping her here throughout the term. In Gryffindor, predictably.

While this story seems quite logical, it has one single, fatal flaw:

It's a load of bollocks.

The girl is an atrocious liar. She fails to make eye contact, her voice shakes slightly, she is not quick enough with answers to certain questions and much too quick with answers to others, her frizzy hair shudders a little when she says something untrue--probably from the way her cheek twinges slightly, and her entire posture and person appear defensive and slightly nervous. The only other explanation for all of these things would be that she is rather shy, frail, and easily frightened .

However, shy, frail, easily frightened people do not typically demand to speak with one of the Greatest Wizards Of Our Time immediately upon rousing in a strange place after having fainted, earlier, in a strange place-- hitting the floor no less--, Uncle or no. Not to mention that her voice when she commanded his attention was so steely it got that twinkling, foppish Transfiguration Professor to hurry me out of the room.

Out of our entire conversation I think I only heard two true statements from her. The first, that her name is Hermione (although the patronymic is still in question); the second that she will be staying in Gryffindor throughout the term.

This is why "who" she is has suddenly become a subject worth looking into. I am ninety percent sure that she is not a Dumbledore and so her identity is not only something worth hiding, it's something worth hiding by Professor Albus Dumbledore. Even I have to admit, though I really do hate to say it twice in one day, that he is one of the greatest wizards of our time. I do have to state, in addition, that this "Hermione" seems to be one of the most regular people of all time.

As far as I can tell there doesn't seem to be anything special about her aside from the fact that I'm sure she's the only person I've ever met whose hair would make a convincing nesting area for owls. That aside, everything else even slightly remarkable about her is circumstancial.

But those circumstances keep piling up.

Starting with the obvious, her mysterious appearance in the hallway (which she tried to convince me was not actually mysterious at all and only seemed to be because I wasn't paying any attention as I walked-- arrantly ridiculous). Then her imperative need to speak to Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible coupled with her knowledge and seeming familiarity with said Professor, who did not know who she was at all. After that, the fact that she has, for whatever reason come under Dumbledore's aegis having been loaned his name to disguise her own for reasons that must have to do with the subject of their conversation.

To end with the less obvious, the fact that she didn't make eye contact with me at all save twice and only briefly. No one knows that I'm an avid student of Legilimency and Occlumency with the exception of Thea and Parker. I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have guessed, as he is more than capable in both studies, however, even if he _has_ guessed, why tell this girl? If he hasn't, how would she know? Although I can't be sure that was the exact reason she was avoiding eye contact, it seems like the most likely given the extent to which she lied during our wonderful little chat. Also, she seemed to be frightened of me-- not in a skittish or embarrassed way, but in the way that tourists are afraid of lions when they go on safari and perhaps get a little too close.

While I will not deny that there are a great many reasons why people should be frightened of me, this girl should not-- _could_ not know any of them. So why the fear?

The only possible explanation for these less obvious observations is that she knows things that she _could not possibly_ know.

She has apparently entered this institution in a way that it _can not possibly_ be entered.

Also, the only explanation I can find for her hair being so... terrible is that she arranges it and frizzes it on purpose, however she_ can not possibly_ think that it's in any way flattering.

I find it rather tiresome when people do the impossible. Tiresome and rather difficult to explain. Especially when said people are so loath to speak to me. I suppose that could've gone under the list of less obvious circumstances, however I think her slight fear of me covers it well enough. My absolute most charming smile and affable mien could barely wring any sort of response out of her. She kept her answers short (probably because they were all lies) and made it quite clear that she would rather not speak to me. From that encounter I can easily assume that I won't be getting any answers straight from the horse's mouth,as it were.

Which means solving all my little mysteries will take a little more time than previously anticipated. Since "Hermione" excused herself early during breakfast, claiming fatigue, I won't be able to continue to catch her in one of her lies--something that was trying enough when she would barely speak to me and that would fairly impossible to accomplish when she isn't even awake to lie. Talking Dumbledore would, quite obviously be useless as the old man has proved time and again that he is far too canny for his own good. In no way omnipotent, or omniscient, but still excessively irritating nonetheless.

So I think I will survey the only lead left. That once-normal-now-quite-curious hallway.

5:15pm

I don't know exactly how, but _some_how, I failed to realize that if "Hermione" was asleep in Gryffindor, she would not be giddily exploring the castle and running inevitably into Professor Slughorn, meaning that Slughorn would _not_ be too caught up breaking in a new student's ears with his unending jabber to come looking for me. Meaning that he would be looking for me and that, given my luck which does tend toward the terrible, he would find me.

The way I manage to overlook these minor, but significant details sometimes never fails to amaze me. Since overlooking them has never been anything but wildly detrimental for me, I don't know why I've never corrected myself. In any case, I will definitely look into remembering and focusing on minor details from now on. All this getting blindsided clearly has a negative effect on my sanity.

For example, when Slughorn sneaks up on me and surprises me utterly by saying things like, "So, Tom, my young man, that girl's rather pretty, eh?" and smiling in a way that I can only describe by presenting you, the reader, with the following, disturbing scenario, which is that you have a great lump of white gelatin in a bowl. You tap the bowl, the gelatin jiggles, and you can see your face in the gelatin, jiggling with it. The gelatin is speaking to you. It will not shut up. Everything it is saying is completely and totally inane, and even though you have only tapped the bowl once and only slightly, the gelatin continues to jiggle. For hours. I do hope my description is sufficiently horrifying.

Well, when he says things like that and smiles in that way, I think that, if sanity were to be measured in points (the total number of which is obvioiusly unknkown, but I assume it was very much higher, perhaps, when I was born, than it is now), I lose twenty-five of them. Every time he calls me "Tommy boy" I lose fifty.

When I reply with a perfectly reasonable answer like "Oh, I don't know, not _really, _I would say" and he responds by winking at me. Twice. Then nudging me. Twice. I lose two-hundred.

His continuing on with, "Saw the two of you talking at breakfast. Don't waste any time do you?" Loses me another ten. The following, self-satisfied "Ho, ho,ho," enhanced by the usual flapping and a bit of nudging for extra measure seizes an additional fifty.

The fact that, when he said and did all these things, he still had crumbs of toast in his beard that had a tendency to _move_ when he laughed, the fact that the arm he nudged me with was particularly disgusting as it was connected to a rather damp and malodorous armpit, and the fact that Professor Slughorn winking is exponentially more traumatizing than nearly every other being on the planet winking, all snatch away another one hundred points of my sanity in all.

I did try to tell him that I wasn't going to be romantically interested in a girl I'd just met, because really I wasn't going to be romantically interested in any one at all. I've never been before, after all, why start? But he simply bowled right over my rather strident, "Well I just met her and I don't think that--" and right into a "Ho, ho, ho, when I was your age..." speech.

This speech managed to go on for what seemed like three hours and, by my estimation, sapped 3,458 of my sanity points.

It was positively one of the most excruciating forms of torture ever devised by man or beast.

Especially the extra winking and nudging dispersed throughout. That was nothing less than excruciating.

In fact, if I were a lesser man, I might have nightmares about it.

In fact, that girl might seriously have to pay for subjecting me to it.

Also, though I think it goes without saying, I did not manage to find anything strange in the hallway. This was mostly because I did not even get a chance to look at it for more than five seconds before, well, I've already spent all this time explaining _that _and there's no use in reliving those particular memories for a second time.

July 27th, 1942

9:35am

I just received and perused a letter from Parker informing me that, according to his recent Divinations, I should either have expected a strange traveler on the 25th, or a strange fingernail. Thea's sterling and ever apt advice on the subject was to, and I quote "Swallow your pride and show Mr. Reed your hand before it falls off. Unless it is the traveler and it's a pretty girl. Then you should probably go after her and release some of that sexual frustration that makes you so crabby all the time. Same, possibly, if it's a pretty boy and you're all right with that."

Even long distance conversations with Thea typically cost me at least 500 points each.

Two hundred fifty points were restored when, in the postscript, Parker said he was going to look a bit more into this "strange traveler" since he highly doubted there was anything wrong with my fingernail. However those newfound points quite quickly vanished, taking another one hundred with them when he informed me that this "looking into" was contingent on their crystal ball surviving a game of Quidditch they were going to play in which the poor divining instrument was to star as the Quaffle.

Only fifty came back when I received a subsequent letter from Thea saying, "We were only kidding about the Quaffle thing. Expect another post tomorrow."

Those two _jitterbug_ on the line between being an aid to me and a detriment. It's not rare for me to wonder whether they haven't lost _all_ their sanity points and are now busy trying to leech mine to fill the void.

12:22pm

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the hallway. No trick walls, no trap doors, nothing. It was rather disheartening.

Also, apparently "Hermione" is ignoring mealtimes. Either she's very hungry or she knows how to get to the kitchens. Of course she can't possibly know how to get to the kitchens, because while there are several handy ways there is no way to know what they are until you've lived her for some time. By some time I, of course, mean more than two days.

Then again, she can't possibly be, do, or know a number of things that she apparently is. Although I hope she doesn't _really_ know anything about me. I think it may just be impossible to kill people discretely in this school-- what with Dumbledore watching.

7:00pm

I have resigned myself to the fact that I will probably not run into the young "Miss Dumbledore" again until term starts, which itself is another strange thing to add to her already sizable list.

Also, Dippet's made his appearance at the Headmaster's table, looking rather worse for wear. If I had to guess, I would say that his vacation did not better his health as the rest of the staff hoped it would. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he looks even more sallow and sickly now than he did last year.

Although I do suppose there is a great deal to worry about. The Daily Prophet proclaims that Grindelwald is gaining strength in Great Britain. Til recently I think he's kept most of his mess to the continent, but I suppose that's going to change now.

The picture on the front page shows a still-photo of a house reduced to rubble, although I doubt that was Grindelwald's work directly. It looks more like the victim of an air raid, however the visceral effect really can't be denied. I suppose the photographers, editors, and writers at the Daily Prophet deserve an E for Exceeds Expectations and also Exaggeration.

I have to wonder if Dippet will even make it through this year. I rather hope he does, because his death would probably promote Dumbledore to Headmaster. That's something so dreadful I can't even imagine it.

July 28th, 1942

9:58am

Have not yet received a letter from the Sabins. Can only assume they were _not_ kidding about the "Quaffle" thing. Currently planning their painful and untimely deaths.

11:20am

Received letter. Have cancelled plans to murder the both of them before term starts.

Note reads:

_Tom-_

_Your strange traveler is really very much stranger than anticipated. We think it's a girl. Does it have horns? Or a tail? Or purple skin? Have you seen her in the daylight? Could she possibly be a super, mutated vampire creature? We think she might be, because we have no idea what else she could be. Maybe you can tell us when term starts._

_-Thea&Parker_

_P.S. You know you're not going to get rid of us for at least a year, because you'll go absolutely batty if you've only got yourself to talk to. Really, now, even Adolf Hitler has advisors. _

Posted a note that reads:

_Parker, Thea-_

_I'm sure that Adolf Hitler's advisors are not crazy and/or incompetent._

_-Tom_

1:54pm

Note from Thea and Parker says:

_O' Dearest Great and Terrible Master,_

_Didn't one of them-a muggle one- just parachute into our country, because he thought he could talk us into submission, because he thought he was imbued with some sort of special power? We think that really happened. Also we think that is a far more crazy/incompetent thing to do than anything we've ever done. Or will do. __In fact, we are of the mind that on the scale of craziness we clock in at a not-quite-safe, but not-too detrimental six. Perhaps seven. On the scale of incompetence we believe we rate a scant one. Perhaps zero. In fact we think we are highly competent and regret that our insanity obfuscates the exact, soaring level of our competence, which we believe to be as bold, shining, accurate, and vicious, as a bird of prey. Perhaps an eagle. __Which you should be able to appreciate if you forget, just for a second, that sometimes eagles eat snakes, because we did forget and we really didn't mean that in that way. No one wants to eat you, but we're sure that if someone did you would provide a Great and Terrible Meal. _

_Sorrowfully and Unworthily,_

_Your Minions_

_P.S. We think that doors might have something to do with your traveler. Some sort of broken door? Or passage? In any case, we've enclosed a new Cryptus charm for you._

At the very least, they are entertaining once in a while. And somewhat useful.

Although, I don't recall having seen any sort of broken door recently.

Currently, I am considering the possibility of just killing the two of them without making it painful. However, it should be noted that this is a rather light consideration.

* * *

**NOTES:**

Thanks to all those who reviewed this fic. _noisee, WamprickNyx,Svelte Rose, Morast, RiddleMeThis, Flaignhan (especially for getting the thing about his parents), Alenor, Emriel, Right or Ryn, ginsensu, Black Aliss, Tom the Riddle, Avery-88, TheEyesoftheTiger (excellent penname, btw, makes me think of awesome montages. Anywho, when he says he's going to kill them, he really does mean it. I promise. He's mean-sociable.), Haydees, Youko-sama, jeanne, Rowena Ravenclaw (trust me, we share the same concerns there. I am thinking of ways to incorporate more of both, though. Or at least keep it interesting), Cathar, A. Reader (have you ever read that SW fic Tales from a Trash Compactor?)._

As Always thanks to Inner Dementia, who has posted a pretty neat HPxHGxTR fic that's definitely worth checking out IMHO.

Also, I'm scaling up to my most canon Tom ever with Ouroboros. Currently the story of Voldemort's parents, like a prequel. If you've got the time, you might want to check that out. It's not very funny, but I'm happy with it (at least the chapter that's up). AND I've finally started the AIR rewrite, which also features a more canon Tom. It'll be called Noughts and Crosses when it's up. Just an FYI in case anyone's interested.


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